


you see, but you do not observe

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Murder Mystery, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-14 03:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19264957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: In which our dynamic duo go on vacation, try to solve a murder, and observe each other.





	1. Chapter 1

It started simply enough. They were ensconced in Crowley’s silky sheets. Aziraphale had propped open a book on Crowley’s back. Obligingly, Crowley wasn’t breathing. Every so often as he turned a page, Aziraphale would run a hand over dark red hair or press a lazy kiss to a shoulder. 

“Angel,” Crowley said quite suddenly, “what do you think of a trip?” 

“A trip?” he closed the book, leaving his finger tucked inside to mark his page. “Why?” 

“Saved the world. Might as well go enjoy some of it.” 

They had saved the world roughly six months ago and spent the bulk of those months since sorting themselves out. A surprising amount of the sorting had taken place horizontally (and one very memorable occasion vertically and several feet off the ground) and without much leaving their home bases. Aziraphale had even started leaving caches of less valuable books around Crowley’s flat. in return, he’d been finding tiny potted succulents littered strategically around the bookstore. 

“Did you have somewhere in mind?” 

Crowley rolled over, dislodging book and angel momentarily, “Never been skiing. You?” 

“No, and I don’t intend to, but I like snow. Don’t see it around here the way we used to.” 

“So somewhere cold-” 

“No big flashy resorts, please,” he gave up and set his book with a proper bookmark on the side table. “Something quiet.” 

“Do you want me to choose then?” Crowley blinked slowly, lazily, reaching for him. 

“I trust you.” 

And his trust had been well placed. A few days later, they were in the U.S. in a charming town. The sky was a brilliant blue, the mountains snow capped, and the people mostly congenial. Crowley drove their rental car (it had been a practical blue Honda, but in the middle of the drive it started having an identity crisis and was now halfway to being a black sports car) down a private road, pulling into a dirt lot beside a few other cars. 

The hand painted sign listing to the left in front of the building declared it, ‘Black Walnut Bed and Breakfast’. It was surrounded by dense pine trees, poking up from a light dusting of snow. It was a sturdy old house which had been added on to several times by several different builders each working with a different plan. The front entrance was a sedate Colonial, there was a turret of a Victorian jutting out from one side and a long low attachment on the other side that was trying for Craftsman. 

Each bit was painted a different pastel color. 

“It’s lovely,” Aziraphale smiled delightedly. 

“Mm,” Crowley picked up their suitcases. “Let’s get checked in.” 

The front door had an electronic chime that played the first few bars of “Wilkommen” from _Cabaret_. 

“That’s an interesting choice,” Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t think they thought out the connotations there.” 

“Welcome to the Black Walnut!” 

There was a high wooden desk with an antique cash register and behind it was a woman in a pink caftan, her ferociously dyed red hair swept up in a matching scarf. Her arms were spread wide in greeting.. 

“Hello,” Crowley said calmly approaching. “We have a reservation under Crowley.” 

“Oh, yes!” she said vivaciously. She had the air of someone who was permanently at maximum vivaciousness. “Wonderful! You’re in the Spire, beautiful room. Can I just see your ID, honey?” 

She flipped open a brick of a laptop, setting it next to the cash register and slowly typed in the details off of Crowley’s passport (legitimate believe it or not). 

“We’ll have you checked in with two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” she went on as she pecked at the keys. “We’ve got cocktails tonight at 8, if you’d like to mingle a little. There’s a few good restaurants in town for dinner. Breakfast opens at 7am and closes at 11, but usually all the good stuff is gone by then so you’re better off coming on the early side. Dining room is just off that hallway, but if you can’t find it just call out ‘Brenda’, that’s me, I’m Brenda, and I’ll probably hear you and lead you in.” 

“Thank you, Brenda,” Crowley gave her one of his charming smiles. 

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Crowley,” she blushed and pressed Enter triumphantly. “Now here’s your key,” it was an old brass type which Aziraphale took happily when Crowley tossed it at him, “and let me call my granddaughter to get your bags.” 

“Really, no need-” Aziraphale started. 

“FIONA!” she bellowed. “FIONA GET OUT HERE! SPIRE ROOM!” 

A door to the left opened. A girl in an oversized sweater and leggings slouched through, picked up the two suitcases and started trudging away towards a wide staircase. 

They followed. 

“Um, so you work for your grandmother?” Aziraphale asked. 

She shrugged and took the stairs two at a time while also seeming barely to move. Crowley looked like he was taking notes. There was a hallway running in either direction with a few doors down each. A tumble of voices came out one open door, but otherwise all seemed calm. Fiona lazily kicked at the door directly in front of them which revealed another set of stairs, thinner and veering off to the right. 

At the top of those there was a window and a door in a tight box of a landing. Aziraphale had to squeeze by Crowley (who copped a feel) and Fiona (who not only didn’t budge, but refused to acknowledge his very existence). It was a relief when the door opened and revealed an airy large room. 

There was a big wide bed dressed up in vibrant comforters and fluffy pillows set under enormous skylights. Two fat armchairs sat by a wide window with a view out into the woods. The carpet was thick underfoot and the ensuite looked charming through the half-open door. 

Fiona let go of the bags. They fell on the plush carpet with a dull thud. Then she turned around and headed back down. 

“What a horrible girl,” Crowley said admiringly. “So do you like it?” 

“I love it,” Aziraphale kissed him. “Excellent choice.” 

They gave the bed a rigorous examination and deemed it acceptable. Aziraphale was already planning a long afternoon of reading once they finished, perhaps in the armchair that would better catch the sunlight. 

“Get up,” Crowley sprung to his feet. 

“What? Why?” 

“Ice skating.” 

“No,” Aziraphale shrank under the mound of comforters. “Dreadful past time.” 

“You’ve never been.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because if you had been, you’d love it. I know it. Come on, up up.” 

“This is a vacation!” He protested. 

“And mostly what you do at home is to stay in and read. Vacations are for doing things a little differently, aren’t they?” 

They both paused. It occurred to them simultaneously that they’d never taken actual vacations and they weren’t exactly sure what they were for when one’s regular job was hardly strenuous and mostly self-defined. Especially since these days they didn’t technically have bosses. 

“Fine,” he decided. “I’ll try it. But I want a good cup of cocoa after.” 

“Deal,” Crowley offered his hand. 

Aziraphale manifested a white bulky ski jacket that went to his knees with a thick faux fur collar and some sensible snow boots. With an indulgent sigh, Crowley shifted to a woolen black peacoat with a very much not faux fur collar. His boots stayed as they were. 

On the first landing, they were nearly mowed down by two knee-high blurs. 

“I’m so sorry!” A man called as he rushed by them. “GET BACK HERE YOU MENACES!” 

When they reached the bottom, Brenda was shaking her head, 

“I usually don’t allow children,” she confided in a low voice as passed the desk. “But they were so desperate after missing their flight like that. They’ll be gone by tomorrow night, I promise.” 

“It’s fine,” Aziraphale assured her. 

“Headed out already?” she took in their gear. “Good for you! Most people just crash when they first come in. Especially the honeymooners. And I forgot to say congratulations too!”

“What?” he asked, voice pitching up and away from him. 

“Yes,” Crowley was Not Looking at Aziraphale. “Thank you. We’re after ice skating. Any recommendations?” 

“Oh, there’s a great outdoor rink just five miles down the way. Drive straight back toward the town you’ll see the signs for it. Have fun!” 

The rental had been fully convinced of it’s sleekness by the time they got in. 

“Really, my dear,” Aziraphale patted the door. “You’ll give it a complex.” 

“Just letting it strive for new heights.” 

The rink was easy to find. It was behind a line of shops, fairy lights hung around it’s perimeter and a few appealing stands set up around the edges. They sat on the bench and their shoes obligingly gained sharp blades. Crowley still squatted down and checked Azirpahale’s laces. Aziraphale rested his hand briefly in Crowley’s hairs, letting it pass through his fingers. There were a few other skaters out, mostly families with young children in various stages of wobble. 

Crowley slid onto the ice without a care, hands tucked in the small of his back as he did a lazy circle around the rink first forward and then backward. 

“Show off,” Aziraphale huffed when Crowley came to a stop where he was still desperately holding onto the wall. 

“You’re the only one who watched,” An eyebrow careened upward over the arch of one smoky lens. “C’mon then.” 

“I hate not being sure of my feet.” 

With a huff, Crowley linked his arm through his, pulling him away from the helpful wall. He was almost an ungainly heap, but Crowley steadied him. 

“It’s like walking, but more fun,” he carried him forward and almost against his will, Azirphale did find his footing. 

It wasn’t so bad, gliding around the rink, listening to people talk, laugh and have little spills. The sky was a brilliant blue, the cold a rousing sort of brisk instead of too much. Children were being their weird delightful selves without wanting anything from him. 

“This was a good idea,” he decided. 

“I know,” Crowley smugged. 

Smug had become a verb after prolonged exposure to a well satisfied demon. Azirpahale had tried to resist it, but it had cropped up in his vocabulary and refused to leave. Much like the demon himself. Crowley brought him a hot chocolate with a great deal of whip cream and a touch of cinnamon afterward that made up for it. 

They went for a walk through the town which was small enough to be walkable. They looked into a few interesting shops as they closed up for the evening. Crowley ducked into one then came out with creamy leather gloves that he pulled snug over Aziraphale’s fingers without a word. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale said low and full of fondness. 

“Keeps up appearances,” Crowley muttered, but sounded pleased. 

They had dinner in an Italian restaurant that had too sweet sauces, but an excellent dry white wine. By the time they made their way back to the Black Walnut, Aziraphale was altogether pleased with their outing. 

“Welcome back!” Brenda chirped from behind the desk. She had changed into a different caftan. This one had a lot sequins and feathers. “Cocktails in a few minutes! In the dining room!” 

Their bed had been expertly turned down and the curtains mostly drawn. The lights were low. Rose petals that were probably supposed to be spread out along the bed had been dumped in a heap at the end. 

“Honeymoon,” Aziraphale said slowly. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t bring that up,” Crowley scowled. He took off his sunglasses, folding them onto the nightstand. 

“Seems like you could’ve mentioned it. We could’ve done in it properly.” 

“We’ve been together one way or another since the Earth was new. I figured all was said and done at this point.” 

“Right, but-” 

There was a knock at the door, “Cocktails!” Brenda reminded them. 

“Cocktails,” Crowley repeated hopefully to him. 

Aziraphale exhaled sharply through his nose, “Fine, but we are talking about this eventually. I’m on to you, serpant.” 

The dining area proved to be on the other side of the peculiar building, a large airy room with big windows currently looking out into the dark forest. There was a bar with Fiona standing behind it, earbuds jammed in her ears. People approached the bar timidly, ordered, and no matter what they asked for got a rum and coke. At least they were strong. 

In all, they were a motley group. There was the beleaguered father they’d seen earlier, looking even more worn out with his two children sitting at his feet, a box of powdery donuts sending up clouds of sugar currently keeping them quiet. Their mother lingered nearby, looking fairly put together as she chatted with a young man with long black hair and a black leather jacket. He seemed to be part of a moving pack of shabby twenty-somethings holding down one corner of the room, clutching their drinks possessively. 

“Grad students,” Crowley determined. 

“Oh?” Aziraphale stared into his murky drink. It shifted uneasily in the glass. 

“They’ve got that look. Academic weariness,” he nodded. “I think there’s five of them squeezed into one of the rooms on the second floor.” 

Aziraphale’s drink burbled in embarrassment and turned a deep red. Brenda arrived, all but dragging two more people into the room. One wore a graphic t-shirt with a joke Aziraphale didn’t understand under a complicated origami of a flannel shirt and hoodie. The other was a smart looking person with chin length grey hair and a deep frown. 

“All right everyone! Let’s get to know each other!” Brenda chimed. “Everyone say their name and one interesting fact about themselves!”

The entire room got an entire degree colder. 

“Really, that’s not-” Graphic tee man protested. 

“I’ll start!” She beamed. “My name is Brenda, and I once starred in a movie!” 

She looked expectantly around the room and finally the father cracked, “What movie?” 

“The Moon of Your Heart!” Everyone was silent. “I was almost nominated for an Oscar. But of course, my real love was the theater! ” 

“My name is Stanley,” graphic tee man fidgeted beside her. “I made an app that recommends books.”

“He's just a tech bro,” Crowley muttered as Aziraphale tensed beside him. "Don't obliterate him."

“An app?” he muttered ominously. 

“I’m Ivrim,” said the one with the chin length hair. “I design glass eyes.” 

“They still make glass eyes?” Stanley blurted then flinched. “Sorry. I just thought maybe the material would be different.” 

“Sometimes the old ways are the best,” Ivrim looked unperturbed. “It’s an art.” 

“I’m Aziraphale and I own a bookshop,” he said pointedly. 

“I’m Crowley and I can lick my own elbow.” 

“No one can do that!” one of the kid’s protested. 

Crowley did that. 

“But that’s impossible!” the kid’s mouth hung open in delight. 

“You next Fiona,” Brenda turned to the bar. Fiona had disappeared from view. There was a line of rum and cokes left behind. “Oh. Then you dear.” 

Dear was the first of the twenty somethings. They introduced themselves as: Kapila (once caught a fly with her bare hand), Asha (could ask for and understand directions in five languages), Zevi (actually liked anchovies on pizza), Dorcas (has tagged over a hundred frogs without injuring a single one for a migration study) and the motorcycle jacket one, Kimah (and could do backflips). 

“I’m Donnie,” the beleaguered father said. “I like the Mets and these are my twins, Benny and Jenny.” 

They were identical mops of dark hair, dark eyes that glimmered with the benign chaos of children with not enough to do. The were now covered in dusting of sugar, vibrating at a new frequency. 

“I’m Abigail,” the mother smiled warmly. “And my double chocolate brownies once won a blue ribbon at the state fair.” 

“See!” Brenda extended her hands. “Now we’re all friends. And since it’s far too cold to wander out into the night, let’s have some karaoke!” 

Aziraphale started to ease towards the door and almost knocked Stanley over. 

“Not my thing either,” Stanley shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “Hey, did you say you owned a bookstore?” 

“Specialty shop,” Aziraphale smiled thinly. “Mostly religious texts.” 

“That’s great!” Stanley held out his hand. “I love independent bookstores.” 

“But technology like yours is putting them out of business,” Azirphale sniffed. 

“That’s exactly the kind of thinking I’m trying to fight. See, this app...” he reached for his pocket then sighed. “I’d show you, but my therapist insisted I should try to actually take a break and unplug this weekend. Phone is off in my bag. Not that it matters out here. I had to choose a place with no service or I’d never make it. Anyway, it’s an engine that recommends then searches for library and local bookstore copies.”

“Oh, that doesn’t seem...usual.” 

“I did the whole usual thing,” Stanley reached for one of the now slightly watery cocktails. Across the room, Benny and Jenny were circling Crowley, who seemed mildly amused as they attempted to stick their tongues out farther than their human design intended. “I made crowdfunding thingies and got promoted through a few start-ups, but it never really made me happy, you know?” 

“Um,” Aziraphale gave a faint nod. “Yes.” 

“So I want to make something I like. But my current job needs a lot of my time-” he stopped. “I don’t need to bore you about this. I just wanted to ask you about your shop, if that’s okay? I’ll get my-. No. No phone. I can take notes.” 

Brenda had brought the karaoke machine to life. She was starting to warble through the opening bars of ‘Send in the Clowns’. Crowley was squatting down and whispering something to the children. 

“Yes, I think there were chairs in the lobby, weren’t there?” 

By the time Brenda had gone through a few ballads, and a few other intrepid souls had brave the microphone, Crowley tired of teaching impressionable children how to make the most out of strategic pieces of tape and ambled back out to the lobby. 

“So I obtain a lot of my inventory just from maintaining good relations,” Aziraphale was halfway through explaining. “Oh, hello, my dear.” 

“Hello, angel,” Crowley put a hand on the back of his chair. 

“Thank you for letting me borrow him,” Stanley cleared his throat, hands rubbing over his jeans. “But it’s late and I should sleep.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale blinked, “is it? I hardly noticed.” 

“Good night, Aziraphale. See you tomorrow hopefully.” Then Stanley was rabbiting off, a little like something was chasing him. 

“Was that necessary?” Azirphale tilted his head back to look up at Crowley. 

“Novel thing,” Crowley leaned down, resting the sharp point of his chin on the crown of Aziraphale’s head. “I’ve coveted before. Part of the job. Maybe even had some envy. Real jealousy though? It’s new.” 

“Is this going to be a regular thing then? I’m not allowed to talk to curious humans?” 

“Nah. Just thought I’d give it a shot. Bed?” 

There was still singing coming from the other room as they headed upstairs, but the narrow staircase and it’s double doors locked it all off. Their room was as they’d left it. Aziraphale headed for the window, peering outside. 

“It’d be nice to have a proper snow,” he could see the faint reflection of himself in the window. Then Crowley as a shade behind, only his facial features clear. “Blankets of it.” 

Crowly kissed wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. The light from the lamps flickered slightly, throwing their reflection into a brief blur, their edges melting into each other. 

“The honeymoon thing,” the demon rested his cheek against the angel’s. “Just thought it would get us a better room at first. But it grew on me.” 

“It’s a nice idea,” he rested his hand on top of Crowley’s where it sat against the buttons of his vest. “Thank you, my dear.” 

Crowley made a sound like he was about to protest, but it died in his mouth. A little tight around the eyes, he managed to get out a rough, “You’re welcome.” 

Eventually Crowley tucked himself up into bed. He looked very odd asleep, fragile and angular under the bundle of blankets. It was tempting and Aziraphale gave in, slipping in beside him. Not to sleep, but he could relax his mind a little and listen to the wind whipping through the pines. 

And the yelling. All of a sudden there was a lot of yelling. 

“Give it back!” A hysterical man shouted. “Please! Whatever you want...just please, that’s my-” 

A very faint series of thumps and then one very loud one. And then a dark presence, so thick and undeniable that it woke Crowley from his deep slumber. He reached across the bed, clutching at Aziraphale’s hand. Neither of them dared to move more than that, just holding hands, even their excitable molecules were still. 

Then the presence was gone and they let out shaky breaths. 

Footsteps. A scream. 

“DADDY! THAT MAN ISN’T MOVING!” 

They were down the stairs too quickly to say who decided they should go. When they burst onto the wide main landing, Benny (or Jenny) was standing at the tip, clutching their white faced father. 

At the bottom of the stair’s lay Stanley. Death had already left with the parts of him that mattered. Brenda emerged from the back of the lobby, still in her feathered caftan. 

“FIONA! GET THE FIRST AID KIT!” She yelled. 

Ivrim was pushing past the kids, descending the stairs rapidly. They knelt by the body, wrapped strong fingers around one wrist, leaning down to put an ear to the chest. 

“No need for that,” they offered, mouth down-turned. “He’s dead. Call 911.” 

Brenda fumbled for the landline phone at the desk, picking it up, “No dial tone. That’s not right-” 

“Oops,” Crowley said very very quietly. 

“Oops?” Aziraphale turned on him. 

The front door opened with a great gust of wind, blowing a figure into the lobby. It was completely white outside. The figure resolved into Kimah, who had ice in his hair. 

“Real sudden storm,” he coughed, swiping at his jacket ineffectually. “Went out for a smoke and almost didn’t make it back.....is that guy dead?” 

“As a doornail,” Ivrim shook their head.

“Shit. How?” 

By now everyone had emerged from their rooms, cluttering up the hallways and passing whispers around the space. 

“I heard him yelling at someone,” Benny (or Jenny) offered. “And then it sounded like when I sled down the big hill at home and broke my arm. Big snap.” 

Brenda put her hand dramatically to her mouth. Crowley sighed, “Oh, here we go.” 

“This man,” she pointed to Stanley’s body. “WAS MURDERED! And someone here did it. No one will be able to get here until morning at least with the roads like this....” 

“Which means...,” Crowley drawled. 

“It’s up to us to catch this dastardly fiend and make sure they don’t strike again!” 

A spark that Aziraphale had long thought had gone out flamed abruptly to life. He turned slowly, eyes wide to Crowley. 

“Please don’t say it,” Crowley groaned. “I am literally begging you. Whatever you want-” 

“The game, Mr Crowley,” Aziraphale said with what he thought was grim determination of his old fictional idol, but actually looked like he might have mild stomach trouble, “is afoot.”


	2. In which Crowley discovers several things, some of them even relevant to the case at hand

“We start with the body,” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley. “We need to examine it before it’s moved.” 

“What we?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You want to play detective, go ahead. I’ll just stand back and glower.” 

“You helped me That One Time.” 

They did not discuss That One Time. It had been a dreadful cock up all the way around and Aziraphale had mostly solved the crime because of a sobbing confession. It had gone straight to his head and he had declared ‘Elementary, dear Crowley!’ at the slightest provocation for decades. That’s mostly why Crowley tried hard to make it a thing they didn’t discuss. 

“That was different.” 

“It's just....” Aziraphale trailed off, staring into space. “I rather liked him.” 

Crowley looked down at the pile of limbs that had been Stanley. The dead didn’t bother him per se. There was nothing left in there to be a bother. But no matter how many he saw, it did always do something to the cold lump that he had recently reluctantly admitted was a heart. 

“Oh, fine.” 

“Excellent!” 

They descended the stairs. Most of the humans were still being mostly useless, talking over each other in various notes of hysteria. Ivrim was still kneeling next to the body, a pensive look on their face, hands pressed flat to thighs. 

“You know first aid?” Crowley asked casually as Aziraphale started hovering his hands over Stanley’s face, muttering something to himself. 

“I’m a doctor,” Ivrim shrugged. “I got into glass eyes as a side gig at first, but I liked it more then optometry after awhile. I haven’t had a living patient in a long time.” 

“Still don’t,” Crowley offered. 

Ivrim gave him a cold look. Right. 

“Sorry, morbid sense of humor. Did you hear anything?” Crowley got an itch at the nape of his neck where his scales once started their molt. A tingle of someone working magic that wasn't occult or celestial at all. 

“Shouting. A thud. I suppose instinct kicked in. I did my share of E.R. rotations. The old adrenaline still kicks up.” 

“Poor bloke,” Aziraphale sighed. “It was unlucky to land like that. It’s not so many stairs, but the way he fell... at least it was instant.” 

“Any clues?” Crowley asked, keeping his tone bored. 

“What are you two, some kind of detectives?” Brenda horned in, eyes wild. “I was going to look everything over! You didn’t move the poor boy, did you?” 

“Not at all,” Aziraphale said affronted. 

“And we are, as it happens,” Crowley reached into the pocket of his bathrobe and produced a card. It conveniently stated ‘Crowley and Fell, Private Investigators for Discreet and Unusual Cases’ in gold. The edges of the paper had gone soft and wrinkled with so many years in his pocket. “And we’ll take this case on pro bono until the authorities can arrive.” 

As if to underline the point, the storm gusted particularly heavily, rattling windows. Aziraphale looked at the card and then up at Crowley. 

“You kept them?” he asked softly with an ocean of affection. 

Crowley, with some effort, ignored that, “Angel, why don’t you get everyone gathered up and get a timeline going. Brenda, where can we put the body for now?” 

“Shouldn’t we leave him?” Ivrim frowned. “For evidence.” 

“The police aren’t coming quickly,” Brenda put in. “We can’t just leave him here like that in the middle of floor. It's a safety risk! There’s an empty room on the second floor. Fourth door to the left.” 

Two worn combat boots appeared next to Stanley’s head. Fiona held up a fancy looking camera and without a single expression started taking an extensive amount of photos that covered every square inch of the scene. When she was done, she headed into the bar/karaoke room where Aziraphale was already gently leading the crowd. 

Once they’d all gone, even Brenda protesting all the way that she should be helping with the body, Crowley let out a gusty sigh. The itch between his shoulder blades started up again.

“I can help,” Kimah squatted down on the other side of Stanley’s body. He really was an attractive young man with dark eyes and black hair. He wore a lot of silver and not a lick of iron. 

“I can do it.” 

“Shouldn’t on your own though. Not right.” 

Crowley took off his sunglasses and stared at him. Kimah stared back. In the deep dark of his eyes, there was a golden flash like a fish darting under a rock to hide from the sun. 

“You were outside smoking when he died?” 

“Mm,” Kimah shrugged. “It’s what I do. When I’m not a doctoral candidate in zoology. And that’s all I thought I was going to be on this trip, before you ask.” 

“I didn’t know your kind were still around.” 

“Didn’t know your kind hung out with his kind and solved crimes,” he challenged. 

“The last bit is rarer,” Crowley tilted his head. “You swear you didn’t kill this man?” 

"Do you promise not to tell anyone what I am?" 

"Promise," he grinned. "For whatever that's worth to you." 

“You know how we love our promises, it's worth a lot. I swear that I didn’t lay a hand on this human,” Kimah smiled faintly. “Good enough?” 

“Good enough.” 

“What about you? Did you do it? You looked awfully jealous earlier.” 

“No,” Crowley snorted. “They live short enough lives. Wait a few decades and they’re gone without lifting a finger. I was having a nice night of it before the screaming. Good enough?” 

“Good enough.” 

They lifted the body together. Crowley’s strength was only a little more than an actual human in this form, but Kimah was something else and with his touch, the body was as light as a feather. They carried him up to the empty room and laid him down. Kimah leaned down sniffed deeply. 

“Any help?” 

He shook his head, “None. Everyone’s smells are all mixed up. Whoever pushed him, barely touched him. Poor thing.”

“How do you know? When it’s coming for them? I always wondered.” 

“It’s just a feeling I get,” Kimah shrugged, a barely there rise and fall of shoulders. “Like I’m getting called by someone I care about from far away.” 

“Do you? Care about them?” 

“Even the shitty ones. You're going to search their rooms.” 

“You’re welcome to join me.” 

“Nah, the others will start wondering where I am. Besides, I’ve never been interrogated by an angel,” a puckish smile, “could be entertaining.” 

Kimah disappeared down the stairs, leaving Crowley to poke around with impunity. There were five other rooms on the floor. Thanks to the confusion and charging about, no one had bothered to properly lock their doors. Not that Crowley couldn’t easily convince a lock to open, but it was nice not to have to make the effort. 

The room directly next to the empty one had a single large bed. It’s occupant hadn’t unpacked, leaving their suitcase open by the door. He gave it a desultory look through, but it was all neatly pressed blandness and nothing of interest. There was a briefcase kept closer to the bed. When he opened it, a hundred eyes in every imaginable human shade stared back at him. 

There had been a time when Crowley had intimately known angels with hundreds of eyes, but they’d at least had the decency to blink on occasion. He closed the case back up. 

There was a toiletry bag on the sink, so fairly boring there. On the way back out though, Crowley saw a small square of paper that had fallen to the floor and halfway under the blanket. It was a glossy business card that read 'Stanley Mulligan, Vice President of Innovation, KappaMax Tech'. 

Crowley tucked it back where it had been and went on to the next room. This was obviously where the family was staying. Bright toys littered the floor, one of the double beds looked like a small hurricane had hit it. A stuffed dragon was on the verge of falling to the floor and he gave it a little nudge back onto the pillow. 

Nothing to see here, he decided and crossed the hall. The grad students' were slightly neater if more claustrophobic. There were two double beds and a roll-away single shoved in at an odd angle. They'd clearly all tried their best, suitcases tucked under beds and nothing left on the floor. They all had books shoved alongside clothes and laptops rested on the side tables charging with their steady pulsing green lights. 

It was hard not to like them, even without their presence. Crowley may have gotten soft for earnest academics as far back as sitting alongside Talmudic students in the tenth century asking questions of their rabbis with frank interest, always pushing at the boundaries of what was known. Nothing suspicious among their things. He had no doubt that that shiver of magic he'd felt before had been Kimah carefully concealing something, but he didn't go poking too hard. 

The bathroom was still humid and smelled faintly of wet dog, but was otherwise uninteresting. 

The two rooms across the halls were larger, both with one bed. He decided on the left and plunged in. Someone had neatly unpacked, hanging a few dresses in the closet and putting the rest in drawers. Crowley did a mental head count and couldn't figure it. Surely Brenda wouldn't stay in one of her own rooms? The clothing wasn't her style anyway, all very tight and athletic. There was a purse on the table, but no phone or wallet inside. Grabbed before a rush out? To protect an identity or just good old fashioned reasonable precaution? 

The last room must have been Stanley's, the bed never turned down for sleep. He'd been awake then until the end. What had kept him up until the wee hours? He hadn't even opened his suitcase yet. His phone, tablet were off and tucked in his bag. There was a laptop on the bed, Crowley opened it and was confronted with a password request. He shut it again. 

The curtains were parted, the window slit open the smallest bit, so cold air and a thin line of wet spatter leaked into the room. Had Stanley come upstairs, opened the window for a little fresh air? That seemed unlikely. He hadn't seemed the fresh air type. He leaned down and opened the window a little further. 

Two cigarette butts peeked out from the crust of snow. He plucked them out and tucked them into a tissue. Aziraphale would like a bit of physical evidence. 

Now, the trickier bit. Where did Fiona and Brenda live? They'd been here overnight so ostensibly they must stay somewhere on the premises. The other doors on the second floor proved to be a linen closet and a tiny laundry room with signs scolding guests for all sorts of possible bad behavior, including using it for 'illicit purposes'. Too bad. Crowley did love a good illicit purpose. 

He trekked back downstairs. There was still a great deal of arguing coming from the bar/karaoke room. Aziraphale was trying to get everyone's attention without much luck. Poor angel never did have much presence of authority. Back when he used to try thwarting Crowley, it had been like being policed by a panda: adorable, but ineffective. 

The door behind the front desk had also conveniently left unlocked, but proved to lead to a dingy office with boxes lining the walls. He peeked in one, but it looked like back records for the B and B, nothing exciting. Damn. A little tax fraud would've lightened things up considerably. 

Returning to the main entrance he headed away from the bar and found the long promised dining room down a twisty hallway. A side table for the buffet, a single dark wood table lined with mismatched chairs, and a massive fireplace that hadn't seen a fire in many years. Through the dining room was a kitchen, some prep already in progress for tomorrow's breakfast. He stole a grape from the fruit bowl and continued through to was finally apparently the owner's space. 

It was a comfortable apartment with an overstuffed couch and dozens of black and white photos on the walls, mostly of dead stars. He recognized a few, including James Dean. 

"Hello there," he stopped and gazed at the familiar face, teasing out the memory. It had been a wedding....a daytime affair maybe? Something decadent. He remembered a voice and damp eyes. A car ride perhaps. Too many years, too many casual moments getting all squeezed together under their own weight. 

He moved on. 

Brenda’s bedroom looked like a dressing room for an entire chorus line. Boas and wigs and sequins and a massive four poster bed done up in pink and gold. An enormous poster of the movie she'd been in was plastered above the bed. Nothing incriminating except maybe her taste in perfume which was strong enough to repel him out again. 

Cluttered bathroom, similarly dull. The next bedroom must usually be a spare. Furniture-wise it looked more like one of the guest rooms than a lived in space. But Fiona had managed to make her mark. Clothing littered the floor, pairs of shoes kicked off wherever she’d stopped, and a surprising amount of paperbacks. Mostly horror by the look of it. 

Her laptop didn’t require a password. How trusting. Her browser was opened to a few fansites for a band Crowley hadn’t heard of, but made a mental note to look up right away. There was a folder just marked ‘My Pics’ and it turned out to be a portfolio of some very nice black and white shots. She was good with that camera. No people in the shots though. Just long range landscapes, snowy and distant as the moon. 

He stopped short of reading her email. He doubted she’d written a convenient ‘I just killed a guy’ message anyway. 

That was that. Nothing very suspicious anywhere. Just humans humaning in close quarters. He returned to the bar/karaoke room where a small riot had broken out with Brenda brandishing a pen and notebook, peppering the crowd with questions while everyone objected loudly and Aziraphale kept pointedly clearing his throat. 

Crowley snapped his fingers. The room went silent. Nice. 

“Can’t have stories getting contaminated. Let’s have the family head to bed. Kids need rest, read that in a book somewhere. We can interview them in the morning. Everyone else, let’s make an orderly line and we’ll question everyone individually,” he announced. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale huffed. “Honestly. A little order isn’t so hard.” 

“I don’t want to go to bed!” Benny wailed. “What if the killer stabs us in our sleep?” 

“Then we’ll have eliminated a suspect,” Crowley pointed out. 

“I’m a suspect?” Benny asked. 

“Everyone's a suspect,” he said darkly. 

“Awesome!” 

“Brenda, we’ll be commandeering the dining room. Give us a few then send in the first interviewee.” 

“But-” 

“Excellent!” he said over her. “Away we go.” 

Aziraphale turned on the lights in the dining room and picked a high backed chair. 

“Did you discover anything?” He asked eagerly. 

"I eliminated a suspect. One of the guests is a Grim." 

"I thought they were all gone! Goodness. Do you think they'd answer a few questions?" 

"If you can figure out which one it is," Crowley grinned. "I promised not to tell, so you'll have to guess." 

"Devilish," Aziraphale pronounced, not without glee. "But did you find any evidence of who DID do it?" 

“Oh, I found a few things. An unaccounted for guest, two cigarette butts, and a business card,” he produced the tissue with the butts in a flourish. 

“Tell me everything.” 

Considering how little there was, it didn’t take long to get Aziraphale up to speed. He nodded gravely as though piecing it altogether. 

“What do you think?” Crowley pressed. 

“It’s all very...mysterious?” 

“I know that. Do you have any stunning deductions?” 

“You’re very good at finding details. I’ve always appreciated that about you, but it's nice to be reminded.” 

Crowley preened over the compliment and forgot to press him further. There were footsteps in the hallway. Their first suspect approached.


	3. In which Aziraphale asks many questions and recites unrelated poetry

Their first interviewee turned out to be Dorcas (has tagged over a hundred frogs without injuring a single one for a migration study). She was a sturdy looking woman with a fashionable hair style and apparently her pajamas of choice were plaid traditional things with buttons. Aziraphale approved. 

“Please state your full name,” he had a pad of paper with the inn’s name embossed on it and a pen that advertised a heart medication. It had green ink. 

She crossed her arms over her chest, “You’ve got no legal right to question us, you know.” 

“I know,” he said with a faint smile. “Thank you for cooperating. I’d like to sort this out before the police get involved. That can get messy.”

“Yes,” she frowned, studying him. He could see some of the challenge bleed out of her shoulders, “it can.” 

Aziraphale didn’t mean to look trustworthy. It was partially an angel thing, but Crowley had informed him over a lovely bit of salmon once that it was also because he looked like everyone’s favorite distant relative. The one that always remembered your favorite candy and sent birthday cards a month late with cash in them. 

Whatever it was, it was very handy in these situations. 

“When did you check in?” 

“This morning. Dumped our bags and ran to the conference. We got back around four. I took a nap. Got dinner with Kapila in town and were back here for cocktails. Free booze, right?” 

“How long did you stay for drinks?” 

“Uh, dunno. Once the karaoke ended. I was wiped out, went up by myself. Zevi came in while I was brushing my teeth. We turned off the lights, I didn’t check the time. Feel asleep quick.” 

“What woke you?”

“Uh, Kapila shook me awake yelling ‘someone’s dead!’ over and over.” 

“Ah, that must have been a dreadful shock” 

“I’ve never even been to a funeral,” she looked at her lap. “I’ve seen dead animals before, but never a person. It’s...not as different as I thought it would be.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be,” he reached over and pat one of her hands. He was very pleased at his sleight of hand that allowed him to delicately brush an iron nail over her skin without her noticing. No reaction. “Did you talk to the deceased?” 

“No.” 

“Do you remember anything about him? Who he was talking to?” 

“Besides you?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale huffed. “Besides me.” 

“No. I wasn’t really paying attention to anyone else. I was tired like I said.” 

“Right,” he made a little note. “Do you smoke?” 

“Nope.”

“Do any of your friends?” 

“Kimah, I think,” she shrugged. “I just met him though. Kapila and I are in the same program, but the others just signed up for the same convention we did and it was cheaper to share.”

“Right,” he glanced at Crowley to see if he had anything to add. Instead, he was treated to one of Crowley’s unique approaches to furniture. He had one leg thrown over on arm and was lounging backwards on the other at an angle that would deeply irritate most human spines. He might’ve been asleep. “Thank you. Could you send in the next person?” 

Kapila (once caught a fly with her bare hand) was a lively charming young lady, who was studying bioluminesce in a species of fish that Aziraphale thought he might’ve been bitten by once. Otherwise, she was no more helpful than Dorcas. She passed the nail test, hadn’t spoken with Stanley and also didn’t know her other roommates well though she thought someone might’ve smuggled in a dog. 

“A very quiet one,” she said pensively. “Or maybe someone had one that checked in before? It’s just a really strong smell.”

“I suppose if you can’t prove it, it’s probably fine?” he offered with a reassuring smile. 

“I guess?” 

Asha (could ask for and understand directions in five languages) had a cloud of curls and spoke so softly, Aziraphale had to do a cheap miracle on the acoustics to hear her. 

“I spoke to him,” she picked at a cuticle. “Around eleven, I think. It was loud. But it was only for a minute. I was wearing a band t-shirt and he heard them play once. It’s just a shirt I borrowed from my ex. I didn’t know them. Short conversation.” 

“Does anyone smoke?” 

“Um, maybe Kimah? I think he ducked out for one.” 

She didn’t give him any opportunity to touch her. He let her go reluctantly. 

Zevi (actually liked anchovies on pizza), slouched into the room and took his chair. He had dark circles under his eyes. There was a pale scar bisecting one of his eyebrows that might’ve made him look tough if he hadn’t radiated an aura of melancholy. 

“Have a seat,” Aziraphale gestured as the man hung around the chair. 

“Thanks,” he sank into it. “It’s been a really long night.” 

The first hesitant tendrils of dawn were creeping through the storm and into the room on grey fingers. It cast the table and fireplace in an eerie shadow. Most of those shadows attached themselves to Crowley, settling around him like beloved pets. 

“So, the others mentioned that you didn’t know each other before hand.” 

“That’s right,” Zevi rested his chin on his palm. “We’re here for the same convention.” 

It suddenly occurred to Aziraphale that they’d all worded that the same way, “What kind of convention?” 

“Just...you know...a thing,” Zevi’s eyelids were suddenly less weighted down. 

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” 

“Um...you’re not from the university, right?” 

“Dear boy, I don’t even know what university you’re-oh. I should’ve asked that shouldn’t I?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Zevi cleared his throat. “It’s...we want to form a union.” 

“A union?” 

“Yes. For graduate assistants.” 

“Why ever for?” 

Zevi explained about the class loads, the salary, and the cost of living for their area. 

“That’s outrageous!” 

“I know!” Zevi threw up his hands. “A few of us in the GSA decided to come out here for a meeting with a college that has a successful union.” 

“Well, I do hope you succeed,” Aziraphale nodded and was about to let him go before he remembered the entire point of their meeting. “Right, did you speak to the deceased?” 

“Um, no. I don’t think so. I went to bed early-ish. Midnight? I heard Kimah go out to smoke, sort of woke me up. Then the screaming.” 

“He the only smoker?” 

“I think so. I hope that’s not a clue. I..” he stopped and flushed, “he only came because I asked him. I don’t know if he actually cares if we unionize or anything.”

“So he came to keep you company?” 

The flush deepened, “Um. I guess so. We met in class last year and we’ve been friends, sort of. We’re really different people.”

“I see. What are you studying anyway?” 

“Literature. Poetry. My thesis is on Auden and his impact on modern LGBTQ poetry,” Zevi offered ruefully. “Useless, probably.” 

Aziraphale beamed at him, “That doesn’t sound useless to me at all. What’s your favorite of his?” 

“Ah, I should say something obscure, but it’s _The More Loving One_.” 

“How should we like it were stars to burn/ With a passion for us we could not return?/ If equal affection cannot be,/Let the more loving one be me,” he quoted. 

It had been a favorite of his too, some time ago. Maybe not as long ago as he’d like to pretend. 

“That’s the one,” Zevi smiled at him lopsidedly. “I don’t think I can help you anymore. I’m not...I don’t pay a lot of attention to things outside my head.” 

“I’m sure your head is a more pleasant place to be much of the time,” he didn’t bother with the iron. Very few supernatural creatures truly appreciated good poetry. “Best of luck.” 

Zevi walk out slowly. A pointed toe collided with Aziraphale’s side. 

“Yes, my dear?” he turned to him exasperated. 

“Got it all wrong, angel.” 

“I’m not even halfway done questioning them and you’ve hardly been any-” 

“Not that,” Crowley looked over his sunglasses with a slight smile. “The stars give a damn. Or a few do anyway.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Some stars had a lot of love stuck in them, once upon a time,” Crowley shrugged. “Maybe they remember.” 

But the mother, Abigail, was already sliding into the room. 

“Hello again, I hope the children are sleeping well.” 

She sat down, frowning, “I guess they are.” 

Odd. “When did you check in?” 

“Yesterday night. Long drive.” 

“Oh,” hadn’t Brenda said the family’s flight was cancelled just this morning? “What brings you to the area?” 

“Visiting my sister,” she shrugged. “We get along fine as long as we’re not in the same house. She lives in town. I usually stay at the hotel there, but I wanted to try something new this year.” 

“I see,” the tumbler finally clicked in his head an unlocked, “OH! I do see. I don’t suppose you smoke?” 

“No,” she wrinkled her nose. “I’m a cycling instructor!” 

“Did you talk to the deceased?” 

“For a few minutes. I wanted to ask him to take a look at my email on my phone, it hasn’t been showing up since I got here. He said he wasn’t that kind of tech, but he looked anyway. Apparently there’s just no signal out here! Can you imagine?”

“Truly unimaginable,” Crowley said flatly, scowling. Apparently he was annoyed about their joint mistake as well. 

“Did he say anything else?” Aziraphale spoke over him. 

“I offered to go for a run with him in the morning. He was talking about how this trip was a retreat for him and you know, I do think exercise is so helpful for a clear mind. That and vitamins. But do you know what he said?” 

“No?” Aziraphale blinked. 

“He claimed he had really bad asthma! I know when people are just trying to get out of things,” her nose scrunched up. “He even shook some kind of inhaler at me as if I was supposed to be able to see through his pockets. Honestly, some people will go to any length to get out of treating their bodies-” 

“Right,” he coughed. “Anything else?” 

“I went up to bed after that. I wanted to get up early and enjoy the woods first thing. Good air here. Very brisk. But of course there was all the screaming and carrying on that woke me up.” 

She passed the nail test though Aziraphale had to get up from his seat and put his hand on her shoulder to escort her out to do it. 

“So that was our mystery guest,” he said once he was sure she was out of hearing range. “I don’t know why I assumed she was the mother.” 

“Thousands of years of sexism?” 

“Oh, dear. I thought I’d shaken the last of that in the 60s. That body was interesting. Have you ever had breasts, my dear? Tricky things.” 

“You did what now?” Crowley started to sit up, then promptly went boneless again when Ivrim entered the room. 

“I was with Stanley right before he died,” he said as he pulled out the chair. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale’s focus was pulled again. It really had been a long night. The grey had infiltrated a little more, the unreal light of the moments when few were awake to see the awkward shift of night into nearly day. 

“I was debating saying anything, sitting out there. I’m not interested in being made a scapegoat, but not saying anything is probably worse,” the formally crisp fall of grey hair had gone soft and messy. There was a spot of blood on their loose t-shirt. “We met up in the hallway and we were talking before Brenda dragged us down to the ice breaker. He seemed very...kind.” 

“Yes, he did,” Aziraphale offered encouragingly, “and you met up again?” 

“Yes. Brenda was pressuring me to take a turn at the microphone. I hate talking in public, let alone singing. When I escaped, he was just coming back in. He asked if I wanted to continue our conversation in his room...it’s been a while. He was handsome enough. 

“Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe he was nervous, but he offered me a cigarette. I haven’t smoked in years, but the desire is always there,” he shifted slightly, eyes drifting away from Aziraphale’s face to somewhere over his shoulder. “It was sort of fun, cracking the window and letting the smoke drift out. Like being in high school again. He even coughed like a teenager as if he hadn’t smoked in a long time. He was funny. Really funny, not that annoying negging kind. It’s hard to find people that just want to make you laugh.” 

“That’s true,” Aziraphale surreptitiously wrapped a hand around Crowley’s ankle. He wasn’t sure when his foot had arrived in his lap, but he was glad it was there. 

“I started getting tired though and things weren’t going anywhere. I figured we’d both be here a couple of days. We had time,” Ivrim’s steady voice didn’t quite crack, “I went to bed. I think I’d just drifted off when he screamed. Maybe just ten minutes after I left him.”

“I’m so sorry, that must’ve been a difficult moment.” 

“It’s just such a waste,” Ivrim passed a hand over their face. “The world can’t afford to lose good people like that. I hope we find who did it.”

“I promise to try my best.” 

Ivrim had been Azirphale’s best guess at the Fey, but he wasn’t really surprised when he passed the iron test as he accepted a stiff hug. 

“Three more to go,” Crowley peered over his sunglasses at him. “Any theories?” 

“There’s also the children and their father,” he pointed out. “Plenty more information to gather.” 

“So none then?” 

Kimah ambled into the room. He’d lost his jacket at some point, reduced to an artfully torn black t-shirt. He sat down cross legged in the chair across from Aziraphale. Despite how long he’d been awake, he looked fresh as a daisy and twice as amused. 

“Having fun?” He asked with a charming smile. 

“Oh, really my dear, you made me go through all that business with the nails for this?” Aziraphale sighed. “He’s practically screaming ‘I’m an otherworldly being, follow my siren song into the depths.” 

“I’m not a siren,” Kimah leaned back in his chair. “Did you break your promise, demon?” 

“I didn’t tell him who you were,” Crowley looked at him over his glasses. “Played by your rules.” 

“I hate when people do that,” Kimah scratched idly at his scalp. 

“Your roommates think you smell like a wet dog,” Crowley grinned. “Imagine.” 

“Oh,” Kimah smiled right back with just a hint of too many teeth, “That’s not me. Spectral forms are good at staying try, but far be it from me to betray anyone else's' secrets.” 

“I don’t suppose you can help with our inquiries?” 

“Eh,” Kiman stretched his arms above his head, shirt riding up to reveal a thick black patch of hair on his stomach. “Lots of brains in this room without me. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” 

“Do you know who did it?” Aziraphale leaned forward. “It’s in your nature to know, isn’t it?” 

“I’m just the warning system. Maybe the escort service if Himself doesn’t show,” there was a feral carelessness to him, and Aziraphale remembered why dealing with the Fair Folk had been such a difficult and thankless task. 

“If you know who killed him, I might consider granting you a favor in return for the information.” 

“Might you?” Kimah snorted. “And what do you think you have that could tempt me.” 

“Maybe some advice,” Crowley put in, “since you’re here to flirt with a mortal. A mortal you apparently haven’t used your magic on. Is it love?” 

“You shut your pointed face,” the snarl was underscored by the kind of thing that would raise the hair on the back of a human’s neck. 

“He’s a nice young man,” Aziraphale said blandly. 

“He’s...” Kimah subsided. “He’s very smart. I like him a lot. Please do not fuck this up for me.” 

“I have no interest in your love life,” he rushed to assure him. “I think what Crowley was getting at-” 

“Pining is a waste of time, is what I’m getting at,” Crowley flopped his other foot into Aziraphale’s lap. “I figured I could lend a hand in return for information.” 

“I don’t need a hand. I just need some time. The storm is a help. Close corridors, a mystery brewing. Perfect setting. Anything else, gentlefolks?” 

“Oh, just go.” 

Brenda bustled in as Kimah paced down the hall. He was barefoot, Aziraphale registered. Really. Fair Folk. So...irritating. 

“Well, you’ve got through everyone so efficiently,” she plopped herself down. “I haven’t stayed up this late in years. So much excitement! I think I’ll just stay up and make breakfast at the regular hours. Leave it out longer, so many need to catch up on their sleep. I got the weather on the TV, the storm took everyone by surprise. It’s supposed to go on through the day tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, who had returned to dormancy. “I see. Well. We’ll do what we can then. Can you tell me about the events of the evening?” 

“Yes, I took detailed notes once you took in the first person. I would’ve preferred to ask the questions, it’s my place, you know and-” 

“The notes then.” 

“Yes, let’s see,” she drew out tiny reading glasses, perching them on the end of her nose. “Cocktails and karaoke ran until ten o’clock. Myself and a few of those nice students stayed up longer talking. The things they study these days! I went straight to Hollywood after high school, never looked back.” 

“So you talked to them until...”

“The last of them went up to bed at midnight, I think. I went to file away the day’s paperwork. There were still people awake, moving around upstairs. I went into the kitchen to prep the coffee for the morning. That’s when the yelling started. I came out as soon as I heard it, but by then it was already too late. It must’ve happened in seconds. Terrible...his poor broken body,” her breath hitched, “it’s all so horrible. I’ll never be able to look at the stairs the same way again.”

“Did you talk to Stanley that night or maybe when he was checking in?” 

“No!” She dabbed her eyes with a tissue she’d pulled out of her sleeve. “He was a quiet one. Just waited quietly at check in. Didn’t answer any questions. Probably wouldn’t have come down for a drink if I hadn’t gone upstairs looking for strays.” 

“I see,” Aziraphale sighed. “Is Fiona out there? I think she’s the last one we have for tonight.” 

“Oh, she fell asleep waiting,” Brenda shook her head. “One of the boys gave her his jacket.”

Sure enough when they left the dining room at last, the terror of the B and B was curled up small on tone of the bar’s couches, a black leather jacket draped over her. 

“All tuckered out,” Brenda shooed them gently away. “You can talk to her in the morning, let her rest for now. Her parents will never let her stay with me over winter break ever again once they hear about this.” 

“It was hardly your fault,” Crowley drawled, leaning heavily against Aziraphale as if he was suddenly very tired. “Things happen.” 

“And you should go to bed,” she fussed. “Working so hard on your vacation. Go on. It’ll all still be here after a few hours rest.” 

For appearances sake, they did go back up to their room. Aziraphale moved to the window, drawing back the curtains. It was a white out. Whatever sun had crept through earlier had been smothered. There were probably several feet of snow on the ground already, piling up plush and treacherous. 

Crowley rested the point of his chin on Azirphale’s shoulder, his hands over the buttons of his vest. It was stark and beautiful, the snow. Like a star. 

“I forget that you made them,” Azirphale said softly. 

“Just a few,” Crowley picked up his line of thought without trouble. “It was a lot of fun.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about Before.” 

“Long time ago,” his grip tightened momentarily. “And I’ve had a lot more fun since.” 

“I don’t think I’m any closer to the answers than I was before. What about you?” 

“Not answers. Just a new question.” 

“Oh?” Azirphale turned from the snow to Crowley’s steady gaze. 

“Angel, where is the bloody inhaler? I know it’s not in his room, didn’t see it there. Not on the body, would’ve spotted that too.” 

“Oh,” Azirphale sucked in his breath. “Now that is a very interesting question, indeed.” 

“But one that we’re not going to answer right away,” the grip shifted, roaming a little. “Could I tempt you into-” 

“Oh, yes please.” 

They passed a very pleasant hour, their questions hanging patiently in the air for their attention.


End file.
